Little Birdie
by thedarklordherself
Summary: What started off as an admiring from afar crush became so much more as time passed.


The clock struck noon, making Tom put down the small hourglass and walk over to the wide window in the front of the store. He grabbed the glass cleaner and rag, spraying at chest height to keep working, to keep his boss from saying anything.

There she was.

The courtyard was one of the smaller ones of the University. He only had a couple of minutes to watch, to drink in her outfit for the day, her hairdo that she chose to present herself with. Today, she wore jeans and a simple coloured blouse, topped with a messy bun that she made work. It was a casual route which meant she didn't have to present anything in class today.

She walked with such confidence, the looks coming her way didn't even phase her. Boys were looking her up and down, admiring the curves the tight clothing accentuated. The girls whispering in each other's ears no doubt shredding everything about her, as girls usually do.

Tom stopped the cleaning and stepped out from behind the lettering of Borgin & Burkes, following her every step until she was out of sight. It always was a sad moment, she didn't realise how much she affected his mood. He looked down to his watch, at the same time every school day. It took her ten minutes to get across the courtyard and then an hour and a half later, she'd back out, heading to the other building for her last class.

He put the cleaning items down and took in a deep breath. Tom always felt overwhelmed whenever she walked by, the lust growing into anxiety at the result of just watching her. His nerves wouldn't allow his usual confident self to approach the girl.

"Tom!"

His attention snapped to the old man behind the register giving him a nasty glare. Tom walked over and asked him what he wanted.

"I ain't paying you to bird watch, get your arse back to work." The old man snapped, Tom's jaw tightened with anger. If it weren't for the need of the job, his hand clenched in a tight fist at his side would have met this old man's jaw years ago. Instead, Tom released the tension in his jaw and smiled.

"Yes, sir."

The old man rolled his eyes at the obvious sarcasm, and Tom turned to continue dusting the antiques displayed everywhere. It was a love-hate relationship between the two.

Tom had an hour and ten minutes to make some progress so he could go back to the window and watch his favourite little birdie walk across the courtyard for the last time that day.

It became an obsession. Tom spotted her two months ago and was captured by the confident demeanour that was radiating off of her. Nothing seemed to bring her down, and he wanted it.

The lust combined with his competitive nature made him want her. But for what? He wasn't sure yet. Was it to destroy her or was it merely to fuck her and make him scream his name over and over till it pleased him?

He was at the top of the world in his school days, and once his pathetic father disowned him, he plummeted to the bottom. The girl's confidence was a replica of his own when he could act in such a manner. But now, he could only watch it, watch her as she commanded the courtyard with a simple walk.

Tom continued his duties, dusting off the old antiques, repeatedly checking his watch so he wouldn't miss the mark. Her schedule was easy to follow should one only pay attention.

—

The next morning, Tom unlocked the door to the shop and hurried in to type in the code. It beeped back at him that it was cleared, and Tom sipped the coffee from the school's shop. It was an hour before his boss would show up and half an hour before his free birdie would walk to her first lecture.

Tom went to the back door to check for packages and was pleased to see only one. It meant less time shelving items and more times reading for his online class. How pathetic to be next to a prestigious university and having to resort to a lower ranked school. His father denied him the same education he was receiving when his mother was still alive.

He settled on the stool behind the register and opened the book, flipping to the chapter due for the week.

The alarm startled him, and he jumped up, worried he might miss her.

A couple of minutes later, she started from the left side of the courtyard, walking with a red-headed girl, one he didn't know. It was odd, but he supposed his little birdie could have friends. How else does one survive without them? He never bothered to have such close people, rendering friendships to be a form of weakness.

If he took Red for a spin and held her captive for a couple of weeks, how would it affect his bird? Would she panic, cry, or spend time searching for her friend? It was an enticing thought to have, putting his bird in a hard situation. Tom liked the idea of fear in her eyes, that plump, soft pink bottom lip quivering from the cry ready to escape her pretty throat. It made his cock twitch thinking of her begging him to let her friend go.

They both became out of sight, and he calmed himself, turning back to study. He would indulge his thoughts later when he was showering and able to fantasise freely of his pretty little bird in pain.

The shop owner called and said he was out for the day which gave Tom the day to read and do his duties at his pace. There were only three customers. He didn't mind.

He flipped the page in his textbook when the bell rang above the door, causing him to look up and was surprised to see the red-headed girl and an identical taller, male version of her.

"What exactly are you getting her?" She spoke, Tom didn't like her voice. He imagined it differently in his mind, imagined her screams and begs in a different tone.

"Can we get some help here?"

The male redhead interrupted Tom's thoughts, and he held back an eye roll, getting up from the stool. He walked over to them and placed a smile on his lips.

"You're handsome." The girl complimented and the boy scoffed.

"Can you keep it in your pants for one minute? I thought you were with Harry?"

Tom had the opportunity to study them as they bickered. Both were sporting letterman jackets, and it made Tom automatically judge them. Anyone playing sports at university was an idiot. They didn't have the brains and needed to perform for their higher education. It was one thing Tom never thought highly of.

"How can I help you?" Tom interrupted their argument, and the girl turned to him, smiling too wide for his liking. The least she could do was be subtle.

"He needs to buy a present for his girlfriend. I'm here because he's my ride home."

Tom raised an eyebrow at the pair. She was so forward, and he finally understood they were siblings. It was apparent now that he thought of it.

"What exactly are you seeking?"

"Anything with the word vintage gets her excited. What would you suggest?"

The derogatory way he spoke of his girlfriend was pathetic, and Tom felt sorry for the bloody girl. But then again he didn't care. He led them to a part of the shop that had jewellery boxes and several other things people tend to keep on a vanity.

He left the two to look and walked back to the register to read while he could. Twenty minutes later, a jewellery box was placed on his book, Tom looking up to see the red-headed girl smiling.

"We're ready to check out." She leaned on the counter, her long red hair framing her face and the low cut shirt displaying a right amount of cleavage. Tom's eyebrows furrowed, and he stood up straight, grabbing the box to scan the tag. He told her brother the price and waited for him to pull out his wallet.

"What's your name? I see no nametags are required here." She stated. Tom wanted to tell her to mind her own damn business but licked his lips before smiling at her.

"Tom."

Ginny's nose scrunched a little, clearly in distaste to what he said. "It's so generic, I was hoping for something more exotic. Something that would fit your handsome face."

Tom's nostrils flared as he was swiping the card. He looked at the name and read Ronald Weasley. The name sounded familiar.

"I'm Ginny Weasley." She stuck her hand out, and Tom shook it while she squeezed playfully.

"Where is Weasley from?" Tom was having a hard time placing it.

"Our father is dean of the school." She boasted, and Tom snorted. Ginny frowned.

Ah, yes. The Weasley clan. He now realised he was staring at the two youngest. His boss was ranting about how some people praised the family too much, and they were probably all a bunch of fakes. Tom didn't know them well enough. Their reputation was too perfect and pure, which is perhaps why this girl was overly confident.

"Of course." Tom smiled, handing them their bag and receipt. They left, and Tom went back to studying.

A month later and Tom's fantasies were starting to intensify. He watched his bird every day, the thoughts ranged from her being bent over and him pounding into her, her moans getting louder with each thrust to her life ending from his doing. He started taking pictures when he could.

He didn't know what he wanted with her. It was becoming too close together, and he needed to talk to her to find out. He was off the next day and decided to sit on the bench that was on the path she took.

It was time to find out exactly what he wanted.

The next morning, Tom dressed casually, noticing that his bird was casually dressing as well the closer to fall they got. He pulled on some jeans, his favourite sneakers, a dull green T-shirt and a jacket to fight off the slightly chilly weather.

He arrived at the bench with his usual cup of coffee. It felt a bit awkward, being on this side of the window. The shop was still closed as his boss refused to get up any earlier.

Hours went by and not one sighting from his bird. Tom felt irritated, and his stomach growled as he continued to fight the urge to leave. He was in the right spot, knowing it was where she walked every day. Not even the redhead walked by, and once it hit three, Tom accepted defeat angrily and left.

He went to his flat, the anger brewing hotter as he continued to think about how his bird stood him up. How dare she not go to school the day he wanted to speak to her? She was very inconsiderate to him, not realising that she was pissing him off.

It then dawned on him. What if something happened to her? What if.. she was gone?

Tom felt dread and worry consumed him. There's no way something happened to her, it's not possible. His mind knew better than to believe that simple lie. Anything can happen to anyone, even himself.

He laid down on the bed and decided to go to sleep. He needed it to be tomorrow, now.

Tomorrow will let him know if she is indeed gone.

It was a restless night, and Tom was turning in his light slumber. His mind wasn't letting him sleep, the endless scenarios running like a slideshow. All the bad things happening to her and he wasn't the cause of her pain. She was gone without his consent, and he was unable to capture the pretty bird.

Tomorrow will tell. Tomorrow he will know.

He hurriedly got into his car at five a.m., the most acceptable time to get to the shop. His boss can deal with his early punch in. Tom felt the loss of sleep, his mind was preoccupied with her face and worry that she was hurt.

The car seemed to be going slow even though Tom was trying his hardest to drive faster. What good would it be if he got there hours before she would? Tom continued weaving through the traffic. He parked in the back and entered the shop, punching in the security code.

His stomach growled as he hadn't eaten for now over twenty-four hours. It didn't matter. In three hours, he would get his answer.

His eyes were starting to burn from the terrible attempt of sleep. His stomach was done making noises, turning into an uncomfortable feeling begging to be fed. Tom stayed put by the window, ignoring his boss' comments to continue working. They had no reason to dust every day.

When it passed three in the afternoon again, and there was no sighting of her, he stormed to the basement to do what was asked of him.

Tom took the steps quickly down, ignoring the comments behind. The old man could deal with whatever customers walked in. He needed to think, scream, sleep, eat, anything to get this ugly feeling to go away.

He looked over to the tall and big glass book preserver. It was still probably the most ridiculous thing he had ever known to exist. It was like it sounds, a big 15 by 15 glass box, tall from ceiling to floor.

When it first arrived to be installed Tom had no idea what it was for. But his boss explained that it's the same kind of concept like a museum preservation box. It made no sense to Tom to have one in an antique shop basement.

It looked inviting to enter. The room was cold and soundproof, Tom sometimes went in there to read till he couldn't anymore. He scanned all the books and some antiques that were not for sale. He entered the glass box and instantly felt his anger melt from the fresh air. Tom took in a deep breath, closed his eyes and stood in the cold case till he almost forgot his pretty little bird.

To Tom's dislike, nine weeks without sight of his bird. It was agonising and he way past irritated. Where could she possibly be?

His boss gave him the task of cleaning out the basement, they got a shipment of old things his boss needed to fix and refurbish to sell. It would only distract for now. Maybe today he shouldn't watch the window. Any more mindless scrubbing, he was sure it would create a hole in the glass.

What felt like hours later, his boss was yelling down the stairs for him. He let the box drop out of his hands, not caring for the contents. He shed his shirt a while ago and quickly grabbed it before going up, using it to wipe off the sweat on his forehead.

"Yes?" He said annoyed but then almost fell back from seeing the person at the counter. He immediately felt self-conscious, pulling on his shirt.

Hermione blushed from the sight of the store worker's body, intrigued by how toned it was. She chuckled as he struggled to put it on.

"This girl says you sold her this jewellery box." The old man barked, raising an eyebrow at Tom's confused look. He never sold his bird anything, he would have known, would have remembered.

"Uh, I don't recall. Do you have the receipt?"

Tom walked over, and Hermione went digging in the gift bag for the paper slip. Tom didn't sell her anything, he would have _remembered._

"My boyfriend— ex-boyfriend, bought it as my birthday gift." She explained, and Tom frowned, grabbing the gift bag.

It was the pretty white jewellery box he sold to the redheads. He finally recalled. It then hit him that she was his girlfriend. Well, ex-girlfriend. It made his stomach fill with butterflies. The old man left back to his office, leaving him to deal with the transaction.

"I remember selling this, just not to you." Tom smiled, and Hermione smiled back at him, "Are you looking to get the money or would you like to look around?"

He was finally talking to her. This felt surreal, her eyes were fixated on his, the light freckles sprinkled on the bridge of her nose were something he never would have seen from the window, the way her eyes were a honey brown, her skin looked so smooth and inviting. She was so close, he wanted a taste. Pictures did no justice to the real thing.

"Well, I wanted to know how much it was and then find something equal in value. I was hoping it was enough for a book."

The butterflies in his stomach created havoc, his instinct of her was right so far. She was too good for something as a jewellery box.

Hermione followed him to the back, thinking the store was a little bigger than she imagined. Her eyes trailed down, taking in his broad shoulders, toned arms and down to a very nice arse. She rolled her bottom lip between her teeth.

"Here's our books."

Her eyes shot back up and felt her cheeks burn from almost being caught checking out his backside. This was interesting. She swore off men for a while after her horrible blind dates, but Ginny was right, the antique shop worker was pleasing to look at.

"I'll be back at the register, waiting for you," Tom said smoothly, wishing she understood just how dangerous he was. There was no escaping him.

"Thank you." Hermione turned away and started looking at the titles.

Tom leaned on his hands on the counter, trying to recollect himself. He was never this rattled, hardly anyone affected him. But having his beautiful bird disappear and then reappear right in his own shop was… unbelievable.

He needed to distract himself, quickly grabbing the textbook from under the counter. The only thing he could do is read, get his heart to stop racing and the butterflies to settle. It seemed impossible to ignore her presence. The need to look behind him was growing every minute that passed by. The time read four nineteen.

Tom flipped the page to now the fifth chapter. He looked up and realised the sun had set and it was near time to closing. He stretched, and then it dawned on him, did she leave?

He looked behind him and couldn't see her through the shelves. Did she really leave without a sound? Tom shut his textbook, and he walked towards the back. To his surprise, Hermione was sitting on the floor of the aisle halfway through a book. She looked serene, and Tom admired her profile.

"I thought you had left," He slowly walked over and sat down next to her, smirking in response to her shy smile.

"I forget time when reading." Hermione marked her page and closed it.

"Which one did you decide on?"

"' _Of Mice and Men'_. A classic and I forget how much I enjoy it."

Tom was surprised she liked the story, it wasn't one of his favourites. The ending usually turns readers off. This showed she was different. He loved different. It made everything he liked about her before just become more amplified. It was slowly growing, they want and need of her. But he needed to play it cool.

"It is a good one. Are you taking it? It's the third edition."

"I saw the price. I can't afford it." Hermione chuckled. The book ran for almost two thousand dollars. No way the jewellery box was that much.

"I have something not so expensive, not a first that's only sixty. You can have it. Consider it my birthday gift since you didn't like the other one."

"Oh, you don't have to do that. Honestly."

Tom stood up and extended his hand out to her. There was only so much room in the aisle when Hermione placed her hand in his, and he helped her up, she was entirely too close to him.

She could see her own reflection in his eyes, they were so dark. It took a moment to realise that she was staring.

Tom could feel her breath on his lips. It was ridiculously delicious, the dark sexual thoughts were invading his mind. He could take her right now, against the bookcase. It would be so pleasing and easy to do.

"Riddle!"

Their trance broke, and Tom cleared his throat and turned to answer his boss' call. Hermione sighed deeply as he walked away, fanning her face that was surely fifty shades dark red.

"Yes?"

"Quit fucking around and finish with her. I'm ready to leave."

Hermione put back the book and walked to the register quickly, hearing the owner's comment. She didn't mean to keep them waiting.

"I'll just get the money back."

Tom felt angry that their moment was broken. It took a couple of buttons pushed to access the cash drawer. It was now or never. Tom gulped, looking at up and discovering her eyes back on him. Her cheeks were still very red. He smirked thinking the effect of one close stand still does to her. Imagine if he would have leaned in and taken her right there.

"Do you go to Oxford?" His tone was nonchalant, the laughter in his mind from his own voice laughing at the ridiculous question. As if he didn't know, as if he hadn't been watching her every day for months until she disappeared.

"I do. I actually used to go through the courtyard across the street. I never knew this shop existed here." Hermione smiled, grabbing her change and dumping it in her backpack pocket.

"What are you majoring in?"

"Law. I haven't decided what kind. One of the reasons why I'm taking a break." she bit her lip, and it was something about her tone that made Tom frown.

"A break? From school?" Tom was surprised. It also explained her absence.

"Well, dating the Dean's son, it makes things hard for that person." She looked down, and Tom became furious. How could someone as arrogant as that Weasley, do that to someone as perfect as her?

It made him want to fix her problem. Within due time, he will. For now, he could focus on her.

"I didn't think it would be that way."

They stood awkwardly, Tom was nervous to ask. Hermione didn't want to go home, and she knew it would be awkward asking him to hang out.

"Would you like to go grab a drink?" Tom eyed the clock behind her and noticed it was late enough for alcohol.

"How about dinner?" She asked forwardly, and Tom smirked, his stomach agreeing from the terrible schedule it was enduring the past two months.

"Works for me. Let me lock up, and I can meet you up front?"

She nodded and placed her backpack down to pull on her jacket. Tom waited till she was out of the shop to duck behind the counter and take a well-deserved breath. His heart felt like it was about to burst out of his chest. This felt so unreal. He hadn't slept well in a month, maybe he was hallucinating.

Hermione stood on the sidewalk, nervously. Ginny made this person sound amazing, and now, Hermione just offered to have dinner with him. She should have opted for the drink. He could be insane, and Ginny's instinct that he suited her was way off.

That moment though in the back of the shop by the books, she felt the need to kiss him. There was no explanation for that. The tension was thick. Hermione rolled her eyes at the silliness, she didn't believe in those kinds of things. This wasn't meant to be. It was supposed to be a way to get over Ron. Hermione was taking Ginny's approach to finally getting past the last month and a half.

This was just a one-night thing.

It took several minutes in the restroom, taking in several breaths to calm down and a couple of run-throughs in his hair with his hands for Tom to lock up the shop and join Hermione in the front. He rounded from beside the shop only to find the sidewalk empty. His stomach dropped, and he finally was admitting it was all a dream.

Tom put his head in his hands, anxious that he was actually losing it. He did a quick scan of the area and then spotted her, across the street sitting on the very bench he sat on to wait for her. He looked both ways and jogged across to meet her there. His heart slowed a bit from the anxiety, the light exercise kept the beat going.

"Are you okay?" Tom asked and saw she was lost in a trance.

She looked up and shyly smiled, "I'm sorry, I was just-"; well, Hermione had no idea what to say. How can she tell this stranger that she was reminiscing the day Ron asked her out on this very bench?

"It's alright. Was just a tad worried when I didn't see you." Tom smiled, but internally, he was shouting at her. Everything in him was holding back the anger he felt; _how dare you disappear again! You have no consideration for me, and I have always been considerate of you. I've been worried, and this is how I'm repaid!_

"Did you still want to grab dinner?" _You better say yes. You cannot do this to me again._

Hermione smiled and stood up, "Of course. Where shall we go?"

They arrived at a hole in the wall type of restaurant Hermione had never noticed down the block. She unbuckled herself and quickly grabbed her wallet from her backpack. Tom walked around and opened her door, stepping back to let her out. He was on cloud nine, the pretty bird was actually eating dinner with him.

This could be the start of something phenomenal. They both walked into the place, and Tom asked for a booth that he usually sat at on his days off doing homework.

"Do you come here often?" Hermione shrugged out of her jacket and placed it in the booth, following him in the half-circle seat.

"I come on my breaks and sometimes after work to study."

Hermione looked at him surprised, she didn't even think to ask if he attended the university. She felt rude assuming he didn't.

"What are you studying?"

Tom grabbed the menu and started to look, nervous to her learning he wasn't at the same school because he wasn't wealthy enough.

"I'm going for Government with a minor in Political Science." He answered and smiled once he knew what he was going to order for them.

"Oh, politics. I didn't realise. You don't seem the type."

Tom clenched his teeth, feeling the anger course through him. He felt the condescending way she was thinking. It was laced in the surprised tone.

"What type do I seem like?" Tom asked quietly, Hermione sipped the wine provided to them. He saw her gulp, and with his anger, he imagined his hands around her neck. Her fear-stricken face would be soothing.

"I would think literature. You seem to understand my need to read back at the shop." Hermione smiled at him, and he held back the scoff. Something as low as literature that wasn't enough. No, he wanted to be on top somehow, no matter what it took to get there. But for now, his attention was on Hermione.

"I understood you needed time to detach." Tom drank some wine and saw her cheeks flush yet again.

"Reading does help. I needed something different than what I have at my apartment."

"So, tell me." Tom leaned back and placed his arm on the top of the booth seat, "how did you end up dating the Dean's son?"

Hermione rolled her eyes, and it amused him, the simple move made him think she wasn't as proper as he assumed from previous observation. He will have to study her more closely.

"We've known each other since we were eleven. There's actually a third to us, Harry. But he is dating Ron's sister."

"So, you just paired off."

The waitress came and refilled their drinks and took their orders, Tom placed several dishes, and Hermione allowed it. She was tired of controlling everything. Just for today, she was going to be like her redheaded friend. Hermione was going to let go.

They talked for another two hours, Tom was mostly listening since everything that came out of her mouth was far more interesting than his story. She would think he's less than her for sure. Hermione finished her sixth glass of wine, her cheeks staying flushed from the amount of alcohol consumed. Tom matched her pace.

He was hoping she would invite him to kiss her, let him finally taste what seemed to be the forbidden fruit. Hermione was leaning on her hand, her elbow firmly under on the table. There was nothing else to talk about, she said everything she could.

"Where should we go from here, Mr Riddle?" Hermione slurred a bit, her eyes focusing hard on his. She could see the hunger in them, they were so dark. He leaned closer to her, his fingers grazing her knee. It sent chills throughout her body.

"You tell me, Miss Granger. I'm up for anything." His tone changed into a low seductive tone, Hermione licked her lips in response.

"Lead the way," Hermione replied back lower, and Tom would have missed it if he wasn't already watching her lips.

They paid the bill, Tom grabbed her hand once her jacket was put on. Hermione was nervous but was forcing it away. Ginny had been terrible at picking people for Hermione to go out with, Tom was the last one she agreed to. Looking down to their intertwined fingers as they exited the restaurant, Ginny seemed to save the best for last.

Tom turned suddenly, and Hermione was thrown off, his hands were on her waist pushing her back against the car. He couldn't wait any longer. He's been wanting this for so long, any more seconds to pass will drive him insane. Just a taste, that's all he needed for now.

He placed his hands on her face, pressing his body against hers. Tom hoped she could feel what she did to him, how hard he was just thinking about her.

They stared into each other's eyes, Tom wanted to savour it, the look of lust and desire at that moment; her permission so clear. He wanted her to say yes. Say yes to everything.

Tom leaned in and kissed her roughly, all pent up feelings for her poured into her mouth in the form of his tongue. She met the eagerness with the same amount, her arms wrapping around his neck.

He could taste the wine and the hint of their dinner, but nonetheless, he was tasting his pretty little bird. Hermione's hands ran through his hair, his hands went down to start picking her up when she pulled away.

She wrapped her legs around his waist, wanting nothing more than to fuck him right then and there. The light wind made her come back down to reality, pulling away and looking into his now confused look.

"Your place or mine?"

Tom smirked and leaned in to kiss her again, thrusting his hips into her. He enjoyed the moan that hummed into his mouth, her tongue fighting for dominance against his.

"Mine," Tom answered her between kisses, not making any move to let her down. They continued, he kept grinding against her, enjoying every moment.

"Tom," Hermione moaned as he kissed the base of her neck, taking her skin between his teeth. She gripped his hair and pulled his head back, wanting his mouth back on her lips.

"Let's go."

They paused, and Hermione stood up, getting used to her legs again. Tom led her to his car, trying to stay focused. He needed her back at the flat.

"I don't live too far." Tom smiled towards her, she was too flustered to answer and instead of nodding her head.

He opened the car door for her, pulling her in for a quick kiss before letting her get in. This was it, he was advancing on his plan. Who knew today would turn out so great?

Tom pulled his car into the driveway to his house. It was the one thing he was entitled to with his own name; his mother's childhood home. At first, it wasn't much, but Tom made it pristinely livable.

He opened the door, and Hermione shrugged out of her jacket, and he took it, putting it on the couch. Tom left to the kitchen to get them a drink.

She sat down on the couch listening to the soft sounds he was making. Hermione could make out the small pop of a wine bottle which she was thankful for. Her nerves were coming back ten fold from the time passing and her liquid courage erasing.

"Do you like white wine?"

"Yes, I do." Hermione smiled as he walked out of the kitchen with two glasses of wine in one hand and the bottle in the other. She gulped down two big sips and smiled at him.

And then Tom talked.

She didn't expect him to want to talk, not after what happened outside of the restaurant. He was telling her everything about him. It was interesting, but she kept wondering how he would look with no clothes on. She didn't want to talk anymore, she needed to be fucked. The pent-up sexual frustration was getting the better of her manners.

Moments later, her eyelids drooped involuntarily, a yawn following after. She frowned as it was surprising to her that she felt completely exhausted. Tom continued talking, her responses becoming shorter and shorter. Hermione was feeling too sleepy for it only being half-past ten. She's stayed up longer for essays than this.

"Are you okay?" Tom asked, concern forced into his tone. Hermione weakly nodded, starting to want to lay down. She slowly leaned on Tom's shoulder and soundly fell asleep.

"Hermione?"

He waved his hand in front of her face and smirked when there was no sign of consciousness. Tom continued to drink his wine, wanting to finish it before he transferred his pretty bird to her cage.

Three days later, Ginny walked into the antique shop, looking for the handsome face from before. She walked to the register and rang the bell a couple of times.

Tom heard it and walked out of the office, surprised to see her. He smiled, and Ginny smiled back flirtingly.

"Hey, have you seen Hermione?"

Tom shook his head and frowned, "Is she okay?"

"She hasn't been home, and I'm just worried that she ended up going back to her parents. Did she ever come here?"

"Yeah, she came and returned the box. We actually had some dinner, but haven't heard from her since. Was assuming I wasn't her type." Tom chuckled and ran a hand through his hair.

"Well if you're not her type, then no one is," Ginny waved and walked back out of the shop. Tom waited a couple of minutes before going to the basement door. He unlocked it and took the stairs down slowly. He could hear the muffled banging on the glass, her faint screams for help.

He already warned her she would only tire herself out. Hermione stopped once he came into view, her eyes were bloodshot red from the crying.

Tom stood near the glass, admiring Hermione's fear-ridden face. She smacked the glass where his face was, yelling for more help.

"HELP!"

"No one will hear you," Tom said, and Hermione kept screaming.

She crumbled to the ground and hugged herself, the sobs growing harder as she tried to think of anything to do to get out of there.

"Why are you doing this to me?" she mumbled and Tom squatted down to be eye level with her. She glared at him, and he smirked, the tears didn't allow for her to be taken so seriously.

"You're my bird, love. I needed to keep you somewhere." He watched the tears multiply and fall harder, "Your redheaded friend was just here."

Hermione's eyes widened, "Don't hurt her!"

Tom laughed at the surprising concern. She was the one trapped in a glass box, and her first instinct was to protect the other girl. How brave of his precious bird.

"I don't want her, I wanted you. For months I watched you, everyday walking across the campus. Every day I documented your outfits, watched you go back and forth. I even once followed you to class, all of them. You are so smart and such a great student. I was even a bit jealous that you got to attend Oxford and I couldn't. I always watched you."

Hermione's stomach dropped, and she felt the instant fear mixed with nausea.

"And then you disappeared for almost nine weeks. Oh yeah, I kept count." Tom stood and slowly circled the box, Hermione's face staring down as she listened.

"I was so angry with you and worried that something happened. And then to my surprise, you walk right into my shop, so willingly."

"I didn't walk in asking to be kidnapped!" Hermione snapped and stood up angrily.

"No, of course not. But you looked so fragile and tired like you hadn't taken care of yourself in a while."

Hermione continued to glare at him as he paused right in front of her, the only thing separating them was the tempered glass.

"I wanted to make sure you didn't disappear on me again. I can take care of you and I will. You can stay with me always, my pretty little bird."


End file.
